


Honor

by scifantasy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 07:19:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1679621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scifantasy/pseuds/scifantasy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sudden thought: why have I never seen fanfiction consisting of Aral Vorkosigan having many, many, many drinks with Eddard Stark and talking about honor, taking up armed revolt against an insane sovereign, honor, how power warps people, honor, the trials and tribulations of raising children, honor, how fun it isn't to be the one stuck doing the work, and honor?</p>
<p>Sudden followup: Does this mean I need to write it?" --Me</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honor

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Честь](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7191212) by [jetta_e_rus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jetta_e_rus/pseuds/jetta_e_rus)



"Another drink, Lord Eddard?"

"Don't mind if I do, Lord Aral."

"Lord Aral. Heh. I haven't been called that in decades." He snorted, spilling some of his cup on his uniform. Thankfully, the brown and silver uniform matched the color of the maple mead, so it wouldn't be a problem for the laundry. _Also thankfully, I'm dead, and having a conversation with an actual feudal lord, no "neo" about it, he's actually wearing mail and has a greatsword, and he looks more confused than I am. Drink your mead, my Count._

"Oh, right. Lord Aral, Lord Vorkosigan, Count Vorkosigan." _How did I know that, anyway? Drink your wine, my lord._

"You know," Aral said after a minute, "it's not as bad as I would have expected."

"What?"

"Being dead."

Ned nodded. "There is that. I can't think of the last time I felt this relaxed. I can't decide whether to be disturbed or glad that I don't remember feeling the stroke that killed me, though. I think I'm glad it was a clean cut, at least. Valyrian steel does wonders."

"I feel the same way about the stroke that killed me," Aral joked, and Ned laughed, but frowned in thought a moment later.

"I do wonder what happened, what's still happening, though. My family, my wife, my daughters..."

"I wouldn't go wondering," Aral said quickly. "I'm not sure what you believe as far as afterlives--" and suddenly he did know, about old gods and new gods and Lords of Light and a thousand other options "--but it seems to me your role is done. Better not to concern yourself with where we have been."

Ned nodded again. "You're probably right. It was such a mess there, anyway. Caught up between honor and duty and scheming and..."

Aral drained his glass and slammed it on the table. "Yes!" he said. "You try to do what is right, you try to hold to your honor, and it slowly dies the death of a thousand cuts."

"And neither of us was supposed to be there," Ned continued. "You had your brother, I had mine. We were supposed to be the spares."

"But one mad lunatic sovereign later," Aral said, "and here we are, in charge. At least I had my father still."

"Fighting a war. _Another_ war, I should say, after throwing over the yoke of invasion. Did you really take the first cut on him, your Yuri?"

"I have to say that much," Aral allowed. "My revolution had more cohesion than yours."

"It wasn't my revolution," Ned said.

"And mine wasn't mine, but here we are."

"Where are we?"

"Arguing about honor."

"I did enough of that when I was alive," Ned said. "Or maybe not enough thinking about it. What was it all worth? Where did it get me?"

"Alive and happy, for a long time," Aral said softly. "In the world you lived in, that was an accomplishment. And you had a family."

Ned paused, further complaints dying on his tongue. "That's...truer than I would have realized," he said. "You had two children only."

"And even the second was unexpected, to say the least."

"I do know how that feels," Ned said, "in a way," and Aral's head was filled with thoughts he knew he shouldn't have, promises made, and trusts he would keep, beyond death. He wrenched his mind back to the lord sitting across from him.

"And you missed raising one."

"Not for lack of trying. And you were able to see yours grow, many of them. Not as many as you might have liked, I admit."

"Robb, a king," Ned said wonderingly. "King in the North. But Sansa and Arya..."

"Losing a child can be devastating," Aral said. "I know."

Ned marveled at what he knew then, and at the very idea of a man dying, and yet not dying. "Dead and rotted," he heard, and saw a flash... "Red hair," he murmured.

Aral snorted, and Ned realized the other man must have just seen Cat, the way he had seen Cordelia. "You too?" Aral asked, not really a question.

"But I would have rather they just stayed home," Ned said.

"So would I."

"Leaving home changes you."

" _Power_ changes you."

"Oh, yes," Ned snorted. "I had Robert, you had your...Ezar?"

"And a thousand others. Serg, Ges, Vordarian."

"Would that Robert had been as strong as Ezar, to wipe them out."

"Would that Joffrey had been as true as Gregor, to preserve what was built."

"Would that Joffrey had been Robert's," Ned said darkly.

"You put a lot of stock in bloodline," Aral said after a moment.

"Don't you?"

"Less than in raising. I won't speak to the consequences of inbreeding--by my time those aren't concerns." Ned blinked as he understood--they could clean a person's...not blood, he sensed it was more than that, but "blood" would do. "But," Aral was continuing, and Ned focused back on him, as best he could given the wine. _Is it fair to get drunk even when you're dead?_

"But," Aral said, "whatever may be in the blood, I put stock in how a man was raised."

"You? Given your younger son?"

"Cordelia had the right of it," Aral said. "Mark...was in many ways raised by Miles. Mark is my son by blood, but also my son by choice, and the latter is more important."

"And Joffrey...was never Robert's son by choice, either. He was his mother's son, and Robert..."

Aral nodded. Then, struck by a thought, he looked around. No Robert. _I wonder why that is?_

"I tried to help him," Ned said.

"So did I."

"You did a damn sight better than I did!" Ned rose angrily. "You left a sane, stable man, with a family, and a future, and peace..."

"And it was never enough."

Ned stopped, sat down. He could see it, then. The thousands of regrets. So many deaths, so much pain and struggle. A legacy of oppression.

"There is always another battle," Aral said. "Sometimes you have to admit that your place in them is done."

"And your honor?"

"You're dead, Ned." Aral blinked at what he had just said, then started to laugh. He couldn't help himself. Ned stared in wonderment, then found he couldn't help it either.

"Death is the ultimate equalizer," Aral said after the giggle fit subsided. "Honor, debts, everything is wiped away. And all that you're left with is your legacy."

"Your children?"

"Them, and what is remembered of you. Your story."

"Hm." After a moment, Ned shrugged. "A story worth telling, I hope."

"I'm sure of it." Aral raised his cup. Ned touched his glass to it.

They sat, and drank, and wondered.


End file.
